A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
by Merlyn
Summary: Watson discovers some pictures which leads to an awkward conversation.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words  
**Rating: **M/R/15  
**Disclaimer: **I didn't create Sherlock Holmes & Dr Watson I am merely playing with them.  
**Author's Note: **This was playing on my mind most of the night and is the first piece of Holmes slash that I feel comfortable in posting – I'm still not happy with parts of it but I don't know what to do. Enjoy.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

During my long and esteemed friendship with Mr Sherlock Holmes I never thought to enquire about his private life. He was a deeply private person and despite my curiosity I respected his privacy, in return, save the brief discussion concerning my late brother, he never questioned my own past. However an event in the late summer of 18-- would mark a change in our relationship.

Our rent covered most of the household bills, there was little need for either myself or Holmes to require regular access to our cheque books and ever since the early days of our friendship I had entrusted mine to Holmes' very safe keeping.

Over the years I had frequent gambling debts and I found that facing Holmes with the reasons I required my cheque book helped to keep my daemons at bay. You may say that I am a hypocrite for nagging Holmes over his own addition, but they are hardly on the same scale.

The one such time that a bill was required to be settled (that didn't concern the household) was when the local tobacconist called in their tab. On this occasion Holmes was out and I as I could not say when he would return I elected to pay the bill myself.

As if to test me Holmes had never made a secret as to the whereabouts of my cheque book, so it was simple enough for me to locate.

"Wait a moment." I told the boy as I entered Holmes' bedroom.

This was one of the rare times I had seen the room flawlessly tidy and I suspected that Mrs Hudson had, had enough of navigating the clutter and tidied it herself. I smiled knowing that Holmes was hardly going to be pleased!

I crossed to his dressing table and opened the top left hand drawer, there indeed was my cheque book alongside Holmes' own. He had never revealed to me the meaning of his middle initial and I had never pressed the matter, considering the nature of his Christian name I'm sure that his middle was equally obscure.

Also contained in the drawer were a few personal items (pocket watch and the such like) and a small leather box, no bigger than a cigar box. The box itself was unremarkable and I suspected it shut with a lock; what drew my attention to it was that the lid had caught on the corner of what I suspected was a photograph and stood slightly ajar.

Despite all my instincts telling me not to touch my curiosity defeated me and I carefully withdrew the box. It did indeed close with a lock, but in an uncharacteristic act of carelessness on Holmes part had caused the photograph to become caught. Part of me did wonder for a moment if this was another of Holmes' tests, however I chose to ignore this thought and set the box upon the table and quickly opened it.

Inside I discovered various documents which Holmes had chosen to keep secure, such as copies of his identification and birth certificate (from which I gleefully discovered the meaning of his middle initial) but these held little interest to me. It was the photographs (four in all) that made me draw my breath in shock.

They were photographs that no gentleman should keep, both subjects were naked as the day they were born and in the process of performing various lewd criminal acts upon each other.

"My God." I murmured to myself, sitting heavily down upon the nearby chair. I had always suspected that my companion may have unnatural inclinations but I had never taken him for someone who would possess such vile pictures. I glanced down again at the top picture, I almost cried out as I realised who one of the subjects was – how could Holmes be so careless?

"Is everything all right sir?"

The voice of the boy brought me back to my senses, I fumbled with the box anxious to hide the wretched pictures lest I should be discovered with them.

"Er, yes. One moment!" I called back hastily shutting the box away. I knew that Holmes would suspect that I had seen the contents but that was the least of my concerns.

"I'm sorry for the delay." I said to the boy as I emerged from the bedroom holding my cheque book.

"Quite all right, sir." He replied cheerfully.

"How much did you say the bill was?"

-----

That evening I sat quietly smoking my pipe trying to think of my course of action. I knew that Holmes would eventually realise I had seen those damned pictures, the question was, did I broach the subject with him, let him know what I have seen, give him a chance to explain or destroy them?

"You're being unusually quiet this evening, Watson." The sharp tones of Sherlock Holmes broke my thoughts, I looked over at him curled in the armchair and found that I could not meet his eye.

"Forgive me, Holmes, I'm a little tired." I replied with no real reason to lie. "I think I shall say good night and head up to bed."

Holmes nodded, "good night, Doctor." and returned to his newspaper.

I stood, stretched and crossed to the door, as I opened it I turned to face him once more.

"You do trust me, don't you Holmes?"

He looked a little surprised by my question; "of course."

"And you would trust me with any personal matters."

"If I had any personal matters that required discussion, then yes, I would trust you."

"Even if they were difficult to talk about."

"If they were difficult to talk about I wouldn't discuss them with anyone. Why all the questions, what's got into you?"

"Nothing. I just want you to know that you can trust me with anything no matter how painful or difficult."

"I shall bare that in mind. Good night Watson."

"Good night Holmes."

I closed the door behind me and headed up to bed, knowing that I would not be able to sleep a wink.

----

I evidentially did fall asleep as I was awoken by my friend in the early hours of the morning. I raised myself onto my elbows and caught a glimpse of Holmes in the candlelight; he looked troubled.

"What you said this evening..." It was unusual to hear Holmes speak in such an unsure manner and I began to feel a little uncomfortable.

"Forget it Holmes. It was the mumblings of a tired man."

He crossed to my bed and sat down at the foot of it, staring into the candle. "You're quite right, I should trust you more." He sighed deeply, "you have often commented on my lack of affection towards women."

"You distrust women, I understand."

"No, no you don't." I felt uneasy concerning the direction of this conversation, I also had the sneaking suspicion that Holmes was drunk. I wished I could take back my earlier comments regarding trust, why had a raised the subject?

"You don't have to justify anything to me."

He set the candle upon my beside table and turned to face me. "It's not distrust or lack of affection, it's an aspect of myself that disgusts me."

"Then don't say it."

"This needs to be said, Watson." He rung his exquisite hands together and stared down at them not wanting to meet my eye. "I prefer the company of my own sex."

"I have often suspected as much." I admitted trying to catch his eye.

"I know you saw those pictures." He said quietly.

"I shouldn't have been prying, I'm sorry." Was all I could manage to say.

"They should have never been taken."

I sat up further, "the other man..."

"Victor Trevor." He said with some disgust. He looked at me for the first time since the conversation started, it pained me not only to see the tears in the corner of his usually sharp eyes but the flush of one somewhat intoxicated showed on his cheeks.

I wanted so desperately to hug him and tell him that everything was all right and we should never speak of this again, but I couldn't bring myself to move closer to him.

Holmes startled me by suddenly laughing – it was a harsh bitter laugh without a trace of mirth. "Yes, Victor Trevor. He not only had the honour of providing me with my first case he..." He left the sentence unfinished and lapsed into silence.

"Why were you sent down?" I asked breaking the silence. "You said you were at college for two years..."

"I should have been imprisoned." He spat angrily. "The Dean walked into my rooms and saw me... kiss Victor. He hauled me to his office screaming every curse under the sun, I was perverted, a sick excuse for a human being. He said I was lucky that he didn't want to bring the college into disrepute by calling the police. To save himself Victor told the Dean that I had forced the kiss upon him and that he was disgusted with my actions."

We lapsed into silence once more, I didn't want to press my friend further and neither did I want my own feelings on the matter to be known. I still felt guilty for forcing this conversation, but part of me felt privileged that he did indeed trust me with this dangerous piece of information. I looked at him and chose my words carefully:

"I'm honoured that you feel you can trust me with this. Just because women don't attract you, as they do me, doesn't mean that I respect you any less."

"Thank you." I detected a strained note in my friends voice. "That means a lot coming from you, Watson." He stood and picked up his candle. "I shall disturb you no further." He crossed to the door.

"Why do you have those pictures?" I asked

He turned to face me, "a certain recent acquaintance had them in his possession. Good night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words  
**Rating: **M/R/15 (Rating for theme, slash and kissing)  
**Disclaimer: **I didn't create Sherlock Holmes & Dr Watson I am merely playing with them.  
**Author's Note: **Sorry, plot hedgehogs wouldn't let this drop. What took place after Holmes and Watson talked. Again I'm not too happy with parts of it, can't say what for spoiler risk.  
**Help: **I am looking for a beta reader, someone who is willing to read Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes and maybe some original stuff. Please check out some of my earlier work, I am very fond of making people OOC.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter Two

The next morning I woke late.

Holmes' words had been going through my mind all night, how long had he wanted to tell me? Had he ever intended to tell? How was he expecting me to react now that I know, how would our relationship change? A long with my questions I had my worries. My feelings confused me, how did I really feel about his confession?

His unsteady step on the stairs after he left my room confirmed my suspicion that he had been more than merry; I hoped that he did not regret confiding in me.

I dressed quickly and hurried down to breakfast.

---

"Good morning." I said upon entering the sitting room, my friend did not look up from his newspaper or acknowledge my greeting. I sighed and sat down opposite him.

I proceeded to eat the delicious breakfast Mrs Hudson had prepared in silence. Holmes had not touched his, which not in itself unusual did suggest to me that he was distracted. As he had no case at present, I could only assume that our conversation was indeed playing on his mind.

"Holmes..." I started to say.

He laid down his newspaper and consulted his pocket-watch. "I have business elsewhere today, Doctor."

_Doctor_. My heart sank.

"Will you be back for lunch?" I asked as he pulled on his thick overcoat.

"No." He took his top-hat from his hat stand, "I do not anticipate being back until late."

"We...I..." I could not find the words for what I wanted to say.

Before leaving he turned to face me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "If I see my middle name appear in any of the stories you keep insisting on inflicting on the public, there will be trouble."

I smiled to myself as he left.

---

As it happened I hardly saw my friend that week, he left before I rose and did not return until I had retired to bed. Despite his allusion to what had taken place it felt like he was avoiding me, was he ashamed?

I wished I could speak to him and reassure that whilst I was not overtly comfortable with the idea of two men being intimate, I did not think anything less of him.

I tried to spend my days sorting through my old case notes but I found that my mind was constantly drawn to Holmes. Why had he allowed himself to be photographed? Was Victor Trevor planning or had tried to, blackmail him? How had Milverton obtained them, had there been more to the Milverton case the Holmes had not divulged?

At night I dreamt of him and his exquisite hands.

---

Almost two weeks after Holmes had come to my room I finally found myself once again in his company. I wanted to broach the subject with him but I could not find my words and when I did, I found that I lost my nerve.

Once I went to his room, but could not bring myself to wake him.

Holmes was in an odd mood; he spoke to me at length on various topics that interested him, other times he was quiet and any attempt at conversation brought a gruff response. I could not leave the subject alone, I needed to talk about it.

My opportunity came late one evening.

Holmes was stretched cat-like in front of the fire, his eyes half closed and a delicious smile upon his lean face. I tried to concentrate on my book but Holmes occupied my thoughts, would he have chosen to tell me his secret if I had not found those pictures? These thoughts were infuriating, why was he occupying my mind so much?

"It's rude to stare." My friend murmured sleepily.

"I was just thinking that I hadn't seen you much lately." I replied, trying not to show that he had startled me.

"I have been somewhat occupied." Stretched and stood up. "I think I shall retire. Good night." I watched him cross to his bedroom and realised that I would not have better opportunity to speak to him.

"Holmes," I stood. "We need to talk."

He stopped, his back to me, a long hand holding the door frame. "About what?" He enquired.

"The other night."

"I've said all I need to say on the subject."

"I haven't. We need to talk whilst...whilst we're both sober."

He turned to face me. "If you cannot discuss something sober then it's something you should not discuss at all."

"Bollocks." I snapped. "I don't need to hear excuses, Holmes, I need you to sit down and talk to me."

"Drop the subject, _Doctor._" He moved to close the door, but I intervened to stop him.

"I'm afraid I can't."

He looked hard into my eyes, his expression unreadable. "What do you want to know?" His voice was harsh, "you want to know specifics? You want to know who I am thinking about when I..." He swallowed hard, "this is something about me that should _not_ be discussed. Good night."

He closed the door with a snap.

I took a breath to steady my nerves and reached out to take the door handle.

Holmes was sitting on his bed, his fists clenched as though he was struggling to contain his emotions. I walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, his entire body tensed against my touch.

"Holmes..."

"Don't."

I removed my hand. "You may not want to talk, but I do." I sat down next to him, "I don't need to hear anything that's...private, but I have questions."

"Concerning what." It didn't sound like a question.

"Those pictures...why? What possessed you to..."

"What indeed." He mused, "it was something that just..." He shrugged

"How did Milverton..."

"The same way he received all his information."

"Milverton's death..."

"Was a fortunate accident." He answered quietly.

I leaned over and placed my hand on his. He made no effort to move away. Feeling braver I took his hand gently and held it between my mine.

"If I hadn't seen those pictures, would you have told me?"

"No."

I watched him closely wishing I could make sense of the feelings that were rushing through my body. I desired Holmes as much as I had desired my dear late wife, as much as I suspected he desired me. I stared at his beautiful thin mouth and watched as he chewed his lip. Instantly I knew why he had never told me and why he had not wanted to discuss the issue, and I also knew what I wanted to do.

"Holmes."

He turned and I leant forward kissing him gently on his lips forcing my tongue into his mouth. He tasted of tobacco and cinnamon, the flavours merged together in an almost intoxicating manner. I had never kissed another man before, there was something exhilarating about the experience.

At first Holmes returned my kiss with equal passion allowing my tongue to explore his mouth, his own darting between my lips. I still held his hand between mine but I wanted to touch him further, to run my hands over his strong body, despite my passion I was afraid – I had never felt for another man like this.

I risked placing my hand upon his thigh, he froze and pulled way moving quickly to stand by the window, his back to the room and to me. I had gone too far.

"Why?" He asked in a strained voice.

"Isn't this what you want?" I asked.

"John..."

"I'm willing to learn."

"No."

"Why?" I crossed to him putting my hand on his shoulder, he moved away and I let my hand drop "I'm offering you what you want."

"It's not what you want." He said quietly.

I snorted, "you can't possibly know that."

"This isn't you." I was surprised to see tears rolling down is face. "You don't share my inclinations, even if you did...you're my friend."

"Can't I be more?"

He angrily wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. "I have had many acquaintances in my life, but never one I could call a friend. I do love you, John, but it's your friendship I value above anything else."

"I think I understand." I said finally, as much as my own thoughts confused me I understood then why Holmes was so afraid of his own feelings. "Sex is just sex, you have no understanding of love, you trust me enough to call friend and for that, Holmes, I am honoured."

I held out my hand. He looked down at it and laughed, soon I too realised how ridiculous my gesture was, considering the recent actions, and joined him in his laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

_With thanks to my beta reader, Anozira _.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter Three

The next morning I was abruptly awoken by a scream from our landlady, accompanied by the slamming of a door.

I immediately jumped from my bed and raced down the stairs taking them two at a time. Long-suffering as she was Mrs Hudson was a hardy woman and I had never known her to scream without reason. As I reached the first landing I caught a glimpse of her hurrying in the opposite direction and down the stairs.

Thoroughly puzzled I tried to open Holmes' bedroom door, but finding it locked I stepped back. What on _Earth_ was going on?

"Holmes?" I enquired, but received no answer. I tried the door again, "Holmes, what's going on? Are you all right in there?" I rattled the handle."Open the door."

I heard the click of the lock, and he opened the door. He was obviously in the process of dressing as he stood there in his shirt-sleeves, his braces hanging by his side. Mrs Hudson had seen Holmes naked on several occasions so I very much doubted that her scream had been the result of catching him in a state of undress.

"Are you all right, old man? You seem...flushed." He did indeed seem a little flushed.

"I'm fine." He mumbled quietly, keeping his eyes from mine.

"What's going on? I heard Mrs Hudson scream."

"I'm rather afraid I gave her a fright." He continued, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the door frame.

"Dear me, Holmes. She's quite a hardy woman. You must have given her some fright."

He did not reply. "What did you do?"

He looked sheepishly at the floor, "I'm afraid she caught me... with my hands... otherwise engaged."

"...Oh." Was all I could manage to say as I tried very hard to contain my laughter.

"It's not funny." He snapped hotly.

"No, no." I cleared my throat, "you're quite right, it's not in the least bit funny." I tried unsuccessfully for a second time to contain my laughter I spluttered for a moment before breaking into a deep laugh.

Holmes flushed a deep crimson and stared at me.

"I think you owe Mrs Hudson an apology." I said once I managed to control myself. "And in future, I suggest you _lock_ the door."

He blushed again and I was rendered helpless with laughter.

* * *

As we sat together at the table I began to feel that my laughter had perhaps been insensitive, after all it had been more than a secret that he had entrusted to me. He had trusted me information that could cost his life.

I cleared my throat, "look, Holmes... despite popular theories regarding the ill effects, I can assure you that what you were doing is... perfectly natural, I mean--"

"Enough!" He interrupted blushing deeply. "You really are insufferable at times."

"All I'm saying is that you have nothing to feel guilty about. I...occasionally..."

"I _am_ Catholic,Watson. I have no option but to feel guilty. And I have no desire to hear about your bedroom activities."

I sipped my tea, "at least my concerns that your cocaine abuse had left you impotent are unfounded."

At this moment Mrs Hudson entered with a tray, she began to place our breakfast on the table keeping her eyes down so as not to look at Holmes. Between the two of them I could not say who was more embarrassed. She turned to leave without a word to us, as she crossed to the door I nudged Holmes under the table and nodded in her direction.

"Er...Mrs Hudson." He said standing, "I...I really do owe you my...deepest apologies for this morning...I shouldn't have been...and I regret..."

It was highly entertaining watching the Great Detective sputter and blush like a school boy, Mrs Hudson ever the perfect gentlewoman stood patiently in front of him waiting for his ramblings to reach a conclusion. I grinned watching him trying to find the words to describe what he had been doing.

Once he had sputtered into silence Mrs Hudson sighed. "Mr Holmes, if you must insist on abusing yourself in that manner I must insist that you _lock_ the door and please _do not_ stain my sheets." Holmes turned a deeper colour crimson (if that were possible) and Mrs Hudson looked over to me. "Will that be all gentlemen?"

"Yes thank you Mrs Hudson." I replied, hiding my snigger.

She smiled sweetly and left the room. Once she had left, Holmes turned to face me.

"I believe you're enjoying this."

"Undoubtedly, old chap." I smiled and poured him a cup of tea. "Come and have your breakfast and forget all about this mornings _little incident_."

He snorted, "for which you are partially to blame."

I put down the milk jug and stared at him, "and how am I to blame for your indulgences?"

He threw up his hands in frustration, "for the better part of my life part of my life I have ignored the urges that present themselves and avoiding thinking...unnatural thoughts. Your recent bumbling has proved to be most uncomfortable!" He collapsed back into his chair.

"I'm very sorry, Holmes." I touched his hand, he didn't pull away as I expected. "I obviously didn't think about the consequences of my actions. I care for you, admittedly perhaps not in the way you mean and I am...I am willing to help you."

I hoped he understood my meaning. Whilst I did have to admit to myself my attraction to Holmes was not physical, I am a curious man by nature and I would be willing to help him in anyway he required.

He did not reply, but toyed with the edge of his tea cup. We sat in silence for a long time before he looked up. "Don't you realise what you're doing to me?" He said quietly.

It dawned on me that my offerings of help where affecting him in a way that I had not imagined. It had never been my intention to frustrate the poor man but now I understood that my actions had been misguided.

* * *

As it happened I was not given much time to muse upon Holmes, his sexuality and his private actions. 

The 'flu season was upon us and my consulting rooms were filled with people requiring my attention and so I spent several long days dealing with the sniffles, colds and hypochondriacs when I would have much preferred to be stretched by the fire back at Baker Street with my dear friend for company, regardless of his mood.

It was with some relief that a brief note arrived from my friend, I was to join him at Charing Cross station in time for the ten past three train to London Bridge.

And so after passing off my patients, I hurried off to whatever adventure awaited me.

* * *

The case on which I joined Holmes on for several weeks proved to be particularly complicated and required both our skills. It is unfortunate that due to the sensitive nature of the case, I cannot reveal the full facts. It involved a document of questionable nature that not only broke the law in a most dramatic fashion, but risked the livelihood of one of Britain's most distinguished families. 

It was only when we were travelling back to London sharing out first class carriage with Inspector Lestrade that Holmes was able to hand over the document. Despite the sensitive nature, there was no question that Lestrade could let the matter simply pass and he was in the process of drawing up a case under the **Obscene Publications of 1857**, a lesser charge considering.

Lestrade glanced at the document, "it's a pity that it's in French. The less people who see this the better." He mused.

"You only have to ask." Holmes replied sleepily, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

"All right, Mr Holmes would you please give me a translation of the document?"

I took the paper from Lestrades hands, whilst I myself could not understand French, like every school boy I had a small understanding of some of the more suggestive words, and it helped that Holmes tended to swear in his grandmother's tongue. The first few lines were littered with such pleasantries and I found myself blushing.

"You read French, Doctor?" Lestrade asked seeing my blush.

"No, no. Holmes has a habit of swearing in French and I'm afraid I recognise some of the words."

"I have no doubt that it's juicy." He grinned at me. "Well, Mr Holmes?"

"I would be delighted to." Holmes sat up, "although you will excuse me if I only give you a written translation."

"Not like you to spare our blushes." Lestrade grinned at him.

"Oh I have no doubt that I would spare yours, Lestrade, but I'm afraid despite being a doctor, Watson here blushes far too easily."

I tried to glare at my friend but catching the amused glint in his eye I found that I could only laugh. As our journey continued Holmes set himself in the corner with his notebook, carefully translating the document. There were times when I'm sure his cheeks coloured.

Shortly before our arrival at the station Holmes put aside his translation and proceeded to sit smoking in a thoughtful manner with his legs crossed without saying a word to neither the inspector nor me. Upon our arrival he handed both his translation and the original document to the inspector.

"Lestrade, I would hesitate no longer." Holmes said as he stepped out onto the platform behind me. "You will find our publisher at **50 Holywell Road**. Our esteemed client did not publish this, that much is clear. No doubt our publisher has taken over **William Dugdale's** rather lucrative business."

"Mr Holmes!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"Read!" He tapped the translation, "and I'm sure you will reach the same conclusions. It is a pity that Dugdale died before my time, I'm sure he was a very interesting chap."

"You're not coming?" He asked as Holmes began to hurry off in the opposite direction.

"No, the credit is entirely yours! Another feather in your cap, Lestrade! Come, Watson!"

I shook hands with the inspector before hurrying off after my friend, trying to fathom what possibly could be the matter with him, for he was acting in a most peculiar manner. He fidgeted terribly during our return to Baker Street and would neither return my glances and comments regarding his agitated state.

* * *

Upon our arrival at Baker Street, we stepped out of cab and climbed the stairs to our rooms, Holmes walking slightly in front of me. I had no doubt that some aspect of our case was troubling him and turned to ask him what it was after closing the sitting room door behind me. 

"Holmes..."

Before I could ask my question, he pinned me against the door kissing me frantically and passionately, his long hands fumbling with the front of my trousers.

To say that this his fumblings were unwelcome would be a lie, for I returned his kisses with equal passion – my arousal as much as his own. The fact that the handle to our door was digging into my back almost painfully hardly diverted my attention. He moved his lips to kiss my neck and I let out a low moan. Suddenly he stepped back as if burnt, a mortified look upon his face.

"Watson, forgive me... I'm sorry." He staggered back before almost bolting in the direction of his bedroom.

"Holmes!" I cried as the door slammed and I heard the click of the lock. "Damn." I slumped back against the door. I was momentarily angry with him for leaving me in such a state but my anger died as soon as it had arrived and was replaced by a deep sadness.

I sighed and re-buttoned my trousers. No doubt my 'bumbling' as Holmes had called it a few days earlier, coupled with this case had frustrated him beyond anything I could have imagined. Whilst his passion I returned, I was sure that some event in his past – most likely associated with those damned pictures – had made him uncomfortable with his feelings. He had admitted it in so many words the night he had told me about his nature. Not wishing to disturb Holmes further, I decided to take a walk, partly to give him some time alone and partly to distract myself from my own arousal.

Buttoning my overcoat I set out towards Regents Park.

* * *

Fearful of being discovered in my state, I avoided the gazes and greetings of the other patrons and rambled through the park in a concentrated manner. I paused to watch the ducks swimming peacefully about upon the lake, darting here and there, diving into the depths and then resurfacing with a shake. How easy to be a duck, I mused, watching a mother duck swim past followed by her brood of ducklings.

"They are most tranquil." The voice of Sherlock Holmes said and I turned in surprise to find the man, himself, standing beside me. His eyes were bright and he showed no signs of what had taken place in our rooms.

"Holmes..." I started to say but he held up his hand.

"My brother has some information that we may find useful to our case. We are to join him at the Diognese Club presently. Are you game?"

"Of...of course."

"The come along, Watson!"

* * *

I stood for some time in the Strangers Room before Holmes returned with his elder brother. Mycroft Holmes had changed little since my first encounter with the man, he was perhaps a little greyer but, as I reminded myself, he was seven years Sherlock's senior.

"Ah, doctor." Mycroft said offering me his hand. "I trust Sherlock hasn't had you rambling all over the West End in pursuit of this case?"

I laughed, "no. For once, he seems to have trusted the police in that respect."

"Ah, most wise. Sherlock, do sit down I won't have you hovering. I have no doubt that your reasoning sent you to 50 Holywell Road, well I have here," he held out two bound ledgers, "the accounts of the so-called business."

"How did you get these?" I asked taking the ledgers.

"I handle the accounts of the Customs and Excise Office, they seized them during a recent raid upon the premises. I was asked in my official capacity as a Government accountant to take a look. I'm sure, Sherlock, you will find them most interesting."

I handed the ledgers over to Holmes who merely placed them upon his knee and looked at his brother. "Lestrade made no mention to me of this raid."

"You perhaps did not give him time to explain. Scotland Yard were present, but apart from the accounts which we must return to the business, nothing was found. Then I heard of your singularly interesting case."

I was about to ask how he learned of it, when Holmes spoke. "And everything here is in order?"

"Yes, everything is accounted for and nothing is hidden."

"Surely that means..." I started, but Sherlock interrupted by train of thought.

"It means, Watson, that there _is_ something hidden. For a business of this...reputation it is unusual to find nothing."

"Precisely, my dear boy." Mycroft smiled at his younger brother. "What it is, I shall leave to you, I am far too busy at present to join you." He stood, "now, doctor, I would like to speak to Sherlock in private."

"Of course." I stood and bid my leave. Mycroft walked me to the door, closing it behind me. I stood for a moment in the corridor unsure of quite what to do with myself when I noticed that Mycroft had not closed the door fully. Whilst it is not in my nature to pry into personal business, I found that I could not help listening.

"Be careful, Sherlock."

"I'm always careful, but I shall keep your warning in mind."

"Don't play the fool, you know what I am talking about."

"And I repeat, I'm always careful."

"I presume he took the information cordially."

"He did."

I realised at this moment that they were discussing Holmes recent revelation to me. It had never crossed my mind that his brother would know also, but upon hindsight I suppose it is hard to keep secrets from a man like Mycroft Holmes.

I heard Mycroft sigh, "Sherlock you're my younger brother and I am fond you. Considering what has taken place before, I do not want to see you hurt." It was quite touching to hear that despite Holmes' comments about his brother lacking a heart, Mycroft clearly cared about his brother.

There was a long period of silence before I heard my friend comment in a strained voice; "I don't know what to do."

"Far be it from me to advise you in matters of love, Sherlock."

"Love is a fictional emotion brought on by our fear of ending up alone." He sneered somewhat half-heartedly in reply.

"And yet," Mycroft mused, "you find yourself under her spell."

"I don't love him."

"The way you look at him suggests otherwise." I heard the sofa creak slightly no doubt as Mycroft sat down next to his brother. "Does he know about that vile man, Victor Trevor?"

"Only parts."

"You haven't told him the truth. I think it would be wise to tell him."

"No! I can't!"

"From what I have observed, not just today, he clearly returns your affections. He may not be aware of them, but you do hold a place in his heart. Tell him the truth, Sherlock, and end the matter for good. Then... either obey your feelings or leave the matter."

Holmes took some time before he replied with a quiet, "thank you."

I heard Holmes stand, and quickly moved away from the door to inspect a painting on the opposite wall. I knew that he would no doubt have a suspicion that I had been listening, but if one is so careless to leave the door partly open... As the thought crossed my mind I realised that Mycroft had fully intended upon my hearing, his talk had been meant for me as much as Sherlock.

"It is strange, is it not," Holmes said crossing to stand beside me, "that being an Army man you are so drawn towards sailing ships."

"There's something calming about them, and Holmes, I grew up in a small fishing village." I replied.

He smiled at me and held out the account books. "We have two days before Mycroft has to return these. I suggest we retire to Baker Street and begin our search. Come, and not a word, let us not break the rule further."

* * *

Our return journey to Baker Street was not as eventful as our first. Holmes sat quietly brooding either upon the case or upon his brother's advice. I myself found that I was distracted. Had I really held Holmes in affection for this long? Mycroft must truly be a perceptive man if he had seen what I had not. Had Holmes told me the truth about Victor Trevor? 

I had little doubt that he was referring to the photographs, which Holmes had told me had been taken during a moment of drunkenness and high-jinks, but what did he mean by 'had he told me the truth'? Was there more to the story than Holmes had admitted? All this I pondered during our short journey to Baker Street and only realised that we had arrived when Holmes gently touched my elbow.

I stepped out of the cab and watched as Holmes paid the driver.

"Afternoon to you sirs." The driver touched his cap and soon was off.

Still lost in my thoughts I followed Holmes up to our rooms without a word.

* * *

**Obscene Publications Act 1857** - was introduced by Lord Champbell after an article in the Daily Telegraph was published about the various sexual thrill-seekers that hung about Holywell Road, and it was thought that this encouraged a 'dangerous promiscuity'. The bill was supported by 'The Society for the Suppression of Vice'. It was the first time that the word 'pornography' (meaning 'the writings of prostitutes') had been used as part of the English language. 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' was prosecuted under the 1959 Obscene Publications Act.

**50 Holywell Road** – Holywell Road (aka 'Bookseller's Row') was full of book shops, it was very popular in the Victorian times probably because of the unregulated nature of the place, there were 57 porn shops in 1834. Number 50 was home to William Dugdale.

**William Dugdale** – William Dugdale published pornography from his shop on 50 Holywell Road, including 'Yoek's Preceptor' which advised the best places to find gay men in London. From 1825 – 1849 he exclusively published porn. He spent numerous sentences in prison, he was one of the first people to be arrested under the 1857 'Obscene Publications Act'. He died during his final prison sentence in 1868.


	4. Chapter 4

_With thanks to my beta reader, Anozira ._

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter Four

"Holmes." I turned to speak to him after closing our sitting room door. He had settled himself upon the sofa and was staring somewhat gloomily at the floor. "Holmes..." I stepped forward.

He visibly shook himself and smiled up at me, "yes, Watson?"

I moved round to sit beside him, I took a deep breath and tried to find the words for what I wanted to say. "Mycroft...he..."

"Eavesdropping is not an activity for a gentleman." He scolded , no doubt knowing full well that I had been listening behind the door.

I ignored his comment; "he asked if...if you told me the truth..."

"I'm afraid, Watson, that the truth is far too painful."

"Tell me."

He laughed, "My dear Watson."

"Given your recent declaration, don't you think you should tell me the truth?" I knew I had him with my statement. He could not shrug off the facts or pretend he had not admitted a deep affection for me.

I watched as Holmes drummed his fingers upon the mantle before crossing to his desk and shuffling the piles of papers. He paced nervously for a few moments, returned to the mantle, filled his pipe, looked at it and then discarded it. He straightened the books upon my desk before finally turning back to me, "what I tell you, Watson, never leaves this room." He turned back to the mantle, "in the immortal words of Brother Mycroft, a veritable oracle of truth 'it would be wise to tell you'. The truth, I'm afraid, is rather sinister."

"During my investigations into the events surrounding 'The Gloria Scott', I heard some...troubling rumours regarding my friend Victor. The rumour went that he...enjoyed photographing ...people...young people...boys." My friend began to pace about the room in some agitation. "Naturally I wanted to dismiss such rumours as slander, the Victor I knew... or thought I knew would never... Anyhow... I made an examination of his room and various other parts of the house but could find no evidence. Yet...yet I couldn't dismiss what I'd heard."

He continued to pace the room, back and forth upon our all ready significantly worn carpet. His head sunk on his breast, his charcoal eyes glinting in the fire light showed me the pain that these memories brought him.

"Sit down Holmes... You're making me sea sick."

He smiled briefly at me before sitting beside me. I suppose looking back on the situation I was greatly touched that Holmes chose to sit beside me as he spoke about these clearly painful memories.

"One night, after I had cleared the matter concerning his father up, I sat drinking with him...celebrating in his rooms. I have to tell you Watson, that a great amount of alcohol had passed my lips before I found the courage to ask him what had been on my mind for several days. 'Victor,' I said, 'I've heard some rumours that you have...a penchant for photography.' To my astonishment he rose to his feet, smiling broadly at me. 'I knew it, my friend, I knew it! I knew you did not only share my physical passion!' He declared gripping my hand." Holmes paused, "I'm sorry Watson I should have told you that my relationship with him was purely...physical."

"I suspected as such. What happened then?"

"He sprang towards the fire place, running his hands along the sides until a small panel slid away. I have to admit I was angry with myself for not discovering this secret panel earlier, I think if I was return to that case now I would have no difficulty but at the time I was not in full command of my skills. From this secret place, he brought down a medium sized wooden box, not quite unlike the one you discovered in my desk. In one hand he held this box, with the other he pulled me to my feet and led me across to his bed. There he sat down cross-legged and began to take out the photographs. They were vile. You know that I have something of a strong constitution, but Watson these images turned my stomach and I could taste bile in my mouth. These images...excited Victor in every possible way, he delighted in describing his actions to me, either oblivious to my discomfort or taking delight in it."

Holmes' voice was becoming strained and he lapsed into silence. In order to distract myself from my own queasiness I left the sofa and poured two large glasses of whiskey from the decanter that stood upon the sideboard. I returned to my seat and pressed one of the glasses into Holmes' hand, he took it without a word and gulped the contents down silently. He cleared his throat and toyed with the glass before speaking again.

"He began to...touch himself as he described some of the more horrific things he had done. I don't need to tell you how disgusted I felt. I had shared intimate moments with this man and here he was... I don't know how long we sat there but soon he moved closer and began to...touch me. I swear to you, Watson, with all my might I tried to distract myself from his actions, but I couldn't."

He tried to choke back the emotion that was clearly welling up inside of him, I gently touched his hand encouraging him to let go of his feelings. My own chest felt tight. On feeling my touch, Holmes pulled himself together and with a cough continued his harrowing tale.

"As he was...he had a terrible smile upon his face. He suddenly became aggressive pushing me back on the bed, 'Strip.' he demanded. I refused and he laughed, waving a picture at me. 'I'll go to the police,' he said with a harsh smile, 'and tell them that I discovered these images in your room.' I was terrified upon hearing his words. If the police saw those pictures they would not even listen to my story, it would have been...my end. I was barely twenty years old and the prospect of life behind bars or worse terrified me. I'm not proud to say it Watson, but I pleaded with him. I told him that I would do anything he wanted." As he spoke Holmes took the four photographs of himself and Victor Trevor from his inside jacket pocket. "This is the result. No doubt you observed the images...but I'm sure if you were to observe now you would see that I am crying. I did everything I could to prevent my arousal, but whether it was my youthfulness or inexperience I couldn't...I couldn't..."

The emotion that he had been holding back broke and I placed an arm around his shoulders as he sobbed. I tried to pull him towards me in an embrace, but he would not allow it.

"I'm sorry." He murmured through his tears, covering his face with his hands.

"You could not have controlled your body's reactions." I said softly.

We sat together for a long time before either of us spoke again. I wished there was more I could do to comfort for my friend, I knew he would be ashamed of his emotional outburst. There was nothing I could say or do. I shifted somewhat uncomfortably in my seat, Holmes had always been strong in matter what the circumstances. It was painful to me to see my friend in such a state and I knew that he was terrified of loosing control and yet he had. I removed my arm from his shoulders knowing that my gesture was making him more uncomfortable. I rose from the sofa to give him some privacy and busied myself with tidying my desk. Eventually Holmes stopped crying and I held out my handkerchief, he took it without question and blew his nose.

"I take it that Mycroft knows everything?" I asked watching him wipe his eyes with the back of his jacket sleeve.

"Yes." He replied quietly.

"And that Victor was blackmailing you?"

He looked at me momentarily surprised but recovered himself quickly. "I have no doubt that you drew that conclusion from our discussion of Milverton."

"Yes. Although," I frowned slightly, "if it was Victor Trevor who was blackmailing you, why was Milverton in possession of the pictures?"

"Mycroft never heard the full story from my lips. As I have told you before he possesses a greater gift of observation than I, and so upon my sending down and knowing that it involved Victor, he deducted the nature of our relationship. **You have let your readers believe I have come from money, but I do not**. My father was a **geography teacher** and Mycroft and myself were Grammar School boys. When I was sent down, my scholarship was taken away and Mycroft helped supplement my income until I was able to support myself. We must not forget that brother Mycroft is an accountant with an amazing faculty for numbers, so it would not have been difficult for him to discover where my funds were going." He took out his cigarette case and with a shaking hand placed one between his lips. I watched as he tried to strike a match before taking the match box from him and lighting his cigarette. "He confronted me and I confessed everything. Mycroft may not have a great heart, but he is very protective towards me. He told me to stop responding to Victor's demands, promising to sort out everything. Through Milverton he managed to obtain the photographs, which he returned to me as a warning to be more careful in the future."

"How long ago was this?"

"About the time of the incident you entitled 'The Greek Interpreter'."

I was alarmed, "Victor Trevor blackmailed you all those years..."

"No, no. He was only able to obtain money from me for three. By a sheer coincidence, soon after my confession to Mycroft he found himself confined to an** Indian goal** charged with assaulting a young boy." I had no doubt that it had hardly been a coincidence and knew that my friend was under no illusion.

"He escaped the gallows?"

Holmes shrugged, "there was no evidence to collaborate the boy's story of a sexual assault."

"Why did you keep them?" I pointed to the pictures that now lay upon our floor.

"As a reminder to be careful."

I chose my words carefully, "after Victor Trevor there was no more?"

"There were several, but when I told you before that I have never known love, it was quite true. A physical relationship is not as rewarding as an emotional one, or so I am told."

I knelt to pick up the discarded images, Holmes did not move as I crossed to the fire and threw them into the flames. I watched the pictures crumble and burn, the acrid smoke curling up the chimney. I turned to find my friend beside me, staring into the flames.

"I have no physical experience with another man." I said quietly, "but I believe that I am in love with one. I also believe that despite his protest he loves me too." I felt Holmes' hand in mine.

"I have no intention if being improper." He replied in a hushed voice, without taking his eyes from the flames.

"There would be no question of being improper." I squeezed his hand, smiling intently at him. He returned my smile before leading me gently towards his bedroom.

* * *

"**You have let your readers believe I have come from money, but I do not."** Both brothers work for a living, Holmes couldn't afford to rent the rooms in Baker Street himself so much have had a similar income to Watson's at the time (11shillings a week).

"**...geography teacher."**. Sheer indulgence on my part, Holmes has a decent grasp of geography & map reading and also geography is a subject that requires a good eye for detail... so why not?

**"Indian goal."** Victor goes off to Terai to start a tea plantation. Terai is at the base of the Himalayas range in India & Nepal. Umm... I wonder if during his hiatus Holmes paid a visit to dear old Victor?


End file.
